


Seven Years

by archea2



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Dialogue-Only, Harry Potter References, Humor, M/M, Teen Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-08
Updated: 2013-09-08
Packaged: 2017-12-26 00:06:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/959226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archea2/pseuds/archea2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seven years at Hogwarts made Sherlock a great wizard, a master detective and the Chosen One. That Sherlock did not un-make Hogwarts in the process is more of a wonder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seven Years

**Author's Note:**

> An oldie, this one, since it was my transition fic after four years in Potterdom. Nothing very new under the canonical sun, mostly crack and all-dialogue. 
> 
> (But I retain a bit of a soft spot for it.)

**1\. First Year.**

"Er, hullo. So, d'you mind if I... ?"

"Depends. Do you want to talk?"

"Yeah, well, no, not if you don't want to. It's a three-hour journey, Harry said, so —"

"All right then, sit down. The name is Sherlock, and before you ask, it's supposed to mean "fair hair", which is silly and grotty and piradoxy...doxapirate.. well, I'm _so_ not it, as you can see, but you know how it is, old wizarding stock, Old Saxon ancestors, yadda yadda pureblood and all that. You're half Muggle, aren't you? Oh, and your name is John, Harry's your sister, not brother, your folks are a bit on the penniless side, that's why you're pretending not to hear that witch passing by with her food-trolley, which is fine with me too, by the way, and you're hoping to get sorted into Gryffindor where the Old and Bold fight the yadda yadda fight, which is a bit dull but good luck to you. S'pose I'll end up in Ravenclaw like Father and Mycroft."

"...Wizard!"

"Yes, that's what we're meant to be."

"No, I mean it's, like, really, it's smashing. How did you know about —"

"Your parents being broke? Easy-peasy. That jumper you're wearing, it's too short at the waist but not because you've outgrown it, 'coz the wool is new and if you had, then the sleeves wouldn't cover your wrists, and I can see they do. So, jumper was hand-knitted by your Mum but she ran out of wool and then ran out of cash to buy more wool. QED, and that's a nice J-pattern on the front, by the way."

* * *

_Ah, another young Holmes... mmm-mm... I suppose you have a pretty clear idea of your chosen House?_

Can't you guess ?

_Well, I would hazard that Quidditch and emotional acting-out are not your cup of tea..._

Yuck!

_And that group loyalty doesn't ring a spell..._

Ew!

_And that peer-to-peer opportunity...no, that would have been your brother if only he'd favoured green for his tie. Well, that leaves us with... RAVENCLAW!_

"Little brother! Now I can truly keep an eye on you !"

... Any chance I can rethink my options?

* * *

**2\. Second Year**

"John, psst! Can I borrow your quill, John?"

"No you can't, it's the only one I've left till lunch break."

"But it's History of Magic! You're not going to take notes in History, are you? Come on, John! Who cares about mouldy old kings and queens and goblin wars and which Pure-Blood married which, and —"

"Shhh! What d'you want my quill for if you're not taking notes?"

"It's for science."

"Sherlock. Last time you said that,  _you ate the quill_  and she said —"

"She?"

"Ah, er. Mrs Pomfrey. She —"

"Oh. The Matron. You're aware, aren't you, that she's not only thirty years older than you but secretly engaged to Professor Flitwick, since the new law on interspecies unions forbids her to wear her ring in daytime? Someone should tell her it leaves a pretty neat dent all the same."

"Oh, boy. Sometimes I really hate you, you know that?"

"Yadda, and all that. So I was thinking, if we dip the tip in your blood and _then_ write out a transfiguration spell..."

* * *

 **"** Sherlock, aren't you supposed to be in your dorm?"

"If it comes to that, why are you stalking me in the corridors? Exercising, Mycroft?"

"It is a Prefect's duty to do nightly rounds in a spirit of communal solidarity, all the more when a basilisk has taken to roaming incognito. My oh my. So many big boy words for you to process all at once."

"Don't you show off with me, Mycroft. And two can play the Game. Secret Chamber's entry is through the girls' toilets."

"Obviously. Designed by Slytherin around 1156, lately recycled by Voldemort or one of his minions to keep a murderous pet snake who, may I add, already killed one girl and nearly offed another. Dear me, now I'm beginning to sound like those Victorian penny dreadfuls you love to read."

"So... spoken to Dumbledore yet?"

"Good god, no. The man would probably ask me to conduct investigation in the  _sewers_. You?"

"Yes, but all he did was to try and feed me sweets. And he asked the grottiest questions about cupboards and overfed boys at home, well, that one was hardly a weirdo - "

"Yes, yes. Right you are. Dorm?"

"Dorm, but  _I_  get to answer the riddle."

* * *

**3\. Third Year**

"Shhh, stay close. I think I heard something."

"Not  _something_ , John. You should really pay more attention to language, you know. What you heard was a gigantic black dog with bright shiny eyes and a rather agressive woof. And before you ask, no, not a hound, not supernatural, plain magical, and we're not going to die after it has crossed our paths."

"I wasn't asking anything, Sherlock."

"Well, you did look intrigued when Professor Trelawney raised the subject in class. Unless you were intrigued by Trelawney, 'course. The age difference would be just—"

"Heck ! The non-omen thing's just broken my leg!"

"Oh, that's him, then. It's all right, John ! Just let him drag you down! He's not dangerous! He's an unregistered dog Animagus going by the rather unsubtle name of Sirius Black, got framed twelve years ago for a crime he did not commit, spent them all in Azkaban judging by the smell of damp and fish and... nah, they can't hear me underground. S'pose I'd better go in and explain before John is left a cripple. Now let's see. Willow. Tree. Trunk. Knob, one. Nice long branch lying round. Radius between trunk and branch equates branch length plus arm span. Down we go !"

* * *

 **"** Good evening, Headmaster. I thought perhaps you'd like to to see me."

"Good evening, Sherlock. Your thinking does you credit, though in the usual course of things I prefer to extend my invitations myself – but then, "usual" is hardly today's password. Speaking of which, I take it that nobody gave you mine?"

"It's no great feat, really, sir. What with the law of semantic probabilities —"

"Tea, Sherlock?"

"Black, two sugars. Thank you."

"As a matter of fact, I did want to see you. You've already guessed why, I suppose. If you eliminate the impossible, and  _that_  is quite a feat in our world, it leaves you with the improbable truth that...""

" ... you need my help."

"Wrong."

"Which I'll be -  _what do you mean, wrong_?"

"I'll need your help when you're able provide it, Sherlock. For the present time, I want to... consult with you, as I did with your brother before the Ministry had a prior claim on him. Entrust you with certain facts and hear you respond to them to the best of your capacity. Please don't pinch your lips at my teapot. Magical pots are quick to heat up and you might end with sweetened Bovril in your cup, which is fine with me, by the way —"

"So you think I'm, I'm, what, intellectually limited?"

"Not at all, my boy. Let me put it this way. One of the great riddles of this school is: Why does the Headmaster like lemon sherbets?"

"Oh, please. You don't really like them, you just pretend you do in order to distract people and let them think you're some sort of candid crackpot, so you can temporise and analyse them while their mouths are full."

"Well done, Sherlock. You have just given me... let us call it a seven percent solution. The remaining ninety-three are still out of your league because they're factors that you cannot gauge as of yet, such as the smell of elderflower at the peak of summer and a deep young voice humming Strauss's _Wo die Zitronen blühen_. You see, the head cannot do without a modicum of heart when it comes to assessing human motives. But you have plenty of time to consider this. Right now, you need to go back to your dormitory. Rest assured that Mr Black is entirely safe and whole."

"Sir..."

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"Is John safe and whole?"

"Ah, now we are making headway. Yes, yes, we are making headway."

* * *

**4\. Fourth Year**

"Erm, Sherlock. Mind if I ask you something?"

"For the last time, John, I didn't put my name into that blasted cup! I've still no idea who did it, and I'm not in a talking mood."

'Erm, well, no, I was just wondering if you'd asked someone to the ball.'

"... Say again?"

"The Yule Ball. You know. New Year's Big Bang, dancing, singing, butterbeer snogging, yippity-yadda. Yeah. So, got yourself, er, a date?"

"..."

"... Sherlock?"

"No. No date. Dates — are not my area, as Professor Binns would be happy to tell you."

"Oh."

"Not good?"

"No, no, well, yeah. Jolly good, in fact."

"Really?"

"Really. Hmmm. So, I was wondering if you... that is, if we could do it together."

"John... I..."

"Ask them, I mean. To make it less embarrassing. All we've got to do is find you a nice girl! I want to ask..."

"Sarah Sawyer. Sixth Year. You _do_ have a thing for elderly female nerds, John. »

"Don't be gross. So I figured we'd go and speak to her after lunch, and... Sherlock ?"

" ..."

"Not-talking mood. Right. I'll go check these underwater spells, then, you'll probably need one if things go a bit kerr-boom during your next task."

* * *

"Mr Holmes. For more than forty months now I have witnessed your inner conviction that Potions were devised for your exclusive entertainment. I have borne with your arrogance, your uppish mannerisms, puppyish witticisms, and general confidence in your largely overrated skills. Still, I am not a patient man, as you may have inferred by now, and to provoke me in my own classroom is a phenomenally stupid idea."

"So you saw it as provocation."

"You'll speak when I give you permission to speak, you impudent whelp. Now hand over that skull and come with me to the Headmaster's office."

"This is interesting, you know."

"Procrastination will only make your case worse, Holmes."

"When you saw the skull on my desk, you gave the sign of fear. Not cowardice, which grabs a body in an entirely different way, as I've had every opportunity to observe in your class. But you, Professor. You did not recoil, didn't even pale, but your eyes glazed over for a second and by the time you called me up, you had shifted your stirring rod to your left hand. That was when I knew."

"If you think yourself impressive, Holmes, you'd better think twice. My...past is common knowledge in these premises."

"A true Deatheater would have shielded his left arm. A coward would have hidden it. You pushed yours forward, forcing yourself to acknowledge the Mark even while you asked yourself what my intention was. You may still be a Deatheater, Professor, but you no longer share their creed. You are Dumbledore's man."

"As he no doubt told you during those little tea sessions of yours."

"He didn't. And I only believe what I can deduce on my own, anyway."

"... And?"

"You were hired as a Potions assistant in January 1981. Why? Professor Slughorn did not retire before June, so why create a supernumerary post ? The Headmaster wouldn't have gone to such efforts on your behalf it if he hadn't been certain of your loyalty. Something had to have happened before that, something that would have made him believe in Severus Snape. I owled my brother at the Ministry and asked him to look up the archives for that year. On the 31rst of October, a young couple resisting Voldemort was murdered along with their baby boy. James and Lily Potter, both of them sorted here the same year as you were. »

"I see. And your so-rational mind leapt to the conclusion that I had been partly responsible for their deaths, and had embraced a teacher's career as the best, i.e. most painful, way to atonement."

"And stuck to it for ten years and more ? Hardly likely. There's more to this than redemption. It was not just your conscience that kept you here, where you'd studied with them, it was your heart."

"I have been reliably informed that I have none, Mr Holmes."

"Information mostly informs on the informant. I didn't need any to know that you had been in love with James Potter. »

"..."

"For more than forty months you have borne with me. You obviously hate everything you see in me – my Pure Blood, my uppish manners and puppyish witticisms, my arrogance. Yet you never once punished me. Not even raised your voice. I'm fairly good at Potions and I'm not a Gryffindor, but there's more to it. The light came when my brother sent me press cuttings with photographs of the deceased couple. These old Pure-Blood alliances always tell in the long run, Professor. Except for the glasses and the fact that I have blue eyes, I'm the exact image —"

" _Please_."

"..."

"..."

"So. Shall we go and have some tea with the Headmaster ? I'll keep the skull if you don't mind – it's rather astonishing, what some of these female ghosts will dig up for you if you chat them up the right way."

* * *

**5\. Fifth Year.**

"Pink! Pink! How am I to investigate a woman with a colour fetish? It's giving my brain a sugar high."

"Did you check her wardrobe?"

"Don't be silly, John. Why would she keep it in a wardrobe?"

"Well, why would she keep it in a drawer? You've checked her desk twice before anything else!"

"No, that was out of curiosity. That quill of hers could be worth an experiment or two."

"I'm not letting you toy with self-mutilation, Sherlock Holmes!"

"Hurry up, she'll be back any minute now. Come on, John, we're  _so_  looking for a pink owl. Or a pink flamingo but I think we'd have spotted it by now. Her bloody Squad is keeping tabs on the School owls and I need to communicate with Mycroft."

"You could use her Floo."

"Nah, I prefer owl messaging. Cleaner. Quicker. No crick in the neck."

"No kneeling down in front of your big bro."

"No kneeling in front of  _anyone_ , John, unless they give me very good reason to."

" _Sherlock!"_

"Shoot, there's the signal. Quick, before she climbs the stairs. You know, I must really set up a clandestine spy network one of these days. D'you think the House elves..."

* * *

"What do you mean,  _dull_  ? Mr Holmes, the choice of a career is a peak moment in a young wizard's life!"

"I don't know that I'd call it 'choose', Professor. We should really pay attention to our use of language, and your five or six options hardly compare with the hundreds of possibilities provided by Muggle schooling. Not that I'd feel any more inclined to chose, but at least the verb would make sense."

"But your OWL results are so promising. Wouldn't you like to become an Auror ? In these troubled times, Hogwarts expects every wizard to do his duty, and —"

"Professor McGonagall. In the whole of  _your_  career, have you ever come across a Lone Auror?"

"Well, it wouldn't harm you to practise a little team spirit. You'd meet with many other young people sharing your interests. That nice Hufflepuff boy with a French name, who's in charge of —"

"I  _could_  ask to be partnered with John."

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Mr Holmes, but Mr Watson is considering an apprenticeship at St Mungo's. Healer Sawyer says she'll be glad to save him a place in her ward. Now, the Headmaster thought —"

"Someone should really hex the female sex with a triple-edged spell."

"— he'd first involve you a little deeper in his crusade for non-violence and communal reconciliation."

"Oh. Well, that makes sense at least. Will it be any fun, d'you think?"

* * *

**6\. Sixth Year**

"Sorry, Jim. Not interested."

"Oh come on, wizard boy. You don't want to get bored to death fighting the good fight, do you? Not when you could have such _screaming_ fun with my little band."

"It was you, wasn't it ? Two years ago. It was you who put my name in the Goblet of Fire."

"Oh, good! Very good! Yes I diiiid. And didn't you just love it, Sherlock Holmes. Leaping through the flames! Taking that little trip full fathom five!  _Sherlock, Sherlock, burning bright_... He's good at it, you know. He charms the heart right out of you. Burns your arm, and the fire goes up to your head.  _In the forest of the night_..."

"Your night is insanity, Jim. I'm not losing my brain to your crowd."

"But think of the gain, Sherlock. Think of the vim, the zing, the  _high_. My game is bigger than yours, big boy. So think, and think well, because this is a  once-in-your-life proposal. Your little pet may offer to make an honest man of you, but he'll never make your veins simmer as I could."

"Leave John well alone. What you're offering is for me to rub elbows with a gang of tattoed hoodlums. Where's the big deal? Thought you'd have more self-esteem than join Arsonists Anonymous."

"Well, a man has to make a living, you know. We can't all rely on Big Brother to keep an eye on us and our wallets. Call it training, if you will."

"Call it quits. Though I'll probably see you again on your trial day."

"Not if I see you first, handsome. And believe me, I'll see to that, I will."

* * *

 **"** So you're leaving school one year earlier."

"Well. Dumbledore's dead, Snape's on the run, Jim ditto, where's the fun in staying? I told McGonagall I'd stand a better chance of finding these Horcrux if I went undercover, and she had to agree. It's not as if I wanted a graduation diploma, anyway."

"And you get to piss off Mycroft."

"Yeah, there's that too."

"All right, then. When do we leave?"

"John. Are you sure — you'll need to take your NEWTS if you want to become a Healer."

"I'm not letting you handle this on your own. No way. And St Mungo's is juggling with reduced staff right now, courtesy of Voldemort, so they've agreed to take me on as an intern in July, when I've turned seventeen. I spoke to Professor McGonagall about this and she says she has that nice Squib niece with rooms to rent..."

"Merlin, another elderly female."

"... and she's contacted that Auror, Lestrade, to act as a relay."

"In other words, I'm getting two nannies. Oh frabjous day."

"At least we'll be in the same House this time."

"...There's that, yes."

* * *

**7\. Seventh Year**

"I  _might_  just succeed in smuggling John and you into the Ministry, but on one proviso."

"Queen and Country and Dumbledore not good enough for you?"

"You're going as a woman, Little Brother. Were I to succumb to these bleak, bleak times, I want a last-hour happy memory."

* * *

"Jesus, Sherlock! There's nothing whatsoever psychosomatic about a Crucio. I'll be fine in just another minute."

* * *

"Slytherin locket. Slytherin ring. Hufflepuff cup. Ravenclaw diadem. Makes you wish the criminal classes had a little more madness in their method, this is sub-Trelawney prediction."

* * *

 **"** Look, just stop babbling and hand the bloody Horcrux over already!"

"But, Lestrange..."

"It's Lest-rade, if you'd ever bothered. And only  _I_  get to call Anderson a dunderhead."

* * *

"I can't believe you made me Apparate all the way from St Mungo's to talk  _my_  owl into delivering  _your_  message. It had better be for the Greater Good, Sherlock."

"I tried to make her! She nearly bit off my finger. My  _writing_  finger."

"Serves you right for feeding her an earlobe last time. No wonder she gave you a peck, I'd do the same if... if..."

"Nice blush, John. Quite Gryffindorish, if I'm the one to say so."

"Just shut up and give me that finger."

* * *

"Oh my, oh my, it looks like I won't be able to do your shopping, boys. You-Know-Who has blown the Muggle supermarket to smithereens with sixty-eight Muggles in it, can you ima... Sherlock?"

"Human supplies galore! Oh, it's Yuletime!"

* * *

"My umbrella?  _My_  umbrella is the last Horcrux ? Good God, is there anything this man hasn't desecrated yet?"

* * *

"Good night, sweet Dark Lord, and may flights of demons nah-nah-nah. In other words, Daddy had it coming. So how did you like my little quip with the umbrella? It took months to persuade him, you know."

"Fire and water, your pet elements. You're rather predictable, Jim."

"Ah, predictions. Let's hear you prophesy then, Chosen boy. What shall it be, a happy ever after in Azkaban? Or do you plan to give me a second chance now I'm a free-lancer? Peace can be deadly boring, my dahling, and I have a wicked imagination. D'you want evidence?"

"What evidence?"

"Ah, ah, ah. Slow down, baby. Clues must be earned, not spilled. Go home like a good boy and wait there for my owl. Oh, you're _so_ going to love this – it starts with the Warbeck woman, left hanging in a cauldron full of... no, musn't spoil the fun for you. So. Wands out, or do I have your permission to Stupefy the cavalry?"

"I didn't bring any in, as you well know. I'm free-lance too, Jim."

"Well then. Pip-pip, dear."

* * *

"According to Rita Skeeter, you've earned yourself a new nickname in the tabloids. The Boy-Who-Lived."

"Oh, _really_. Voldemort's not a patch on the British public when it comes to slaughtering their mother tongue. What's the point of using the past tense if they're praising my survival?"

"Speaking of, someone's let on to the Press about your little habit of sniffing Floo powder to speed up your brain connections."

"Mycroft's going to love that. Perhaps he'll stop trying to load me with that First-Class Order thing at last."

"And to top it all, Skeeter is now suggesting that you hunted Bellatrix Lestrange and finished her off with an Avada because she had called me, quote, "a woolly-lamb", so that you, quote, "ran after her, dreading in his heart of hearts that the blue-eyed boy he'd come to cherish might suffer a fate worse than death at the hands of such a talented witch."

"..."

"... Sherlock?"

* * *

 **"** Red cheeks look nice on you, y'know. Bit Gryffindorish, but they make a nice contrast with the scarf."

"Just - shut up and kiss me again."

"And this one's on my House!"


End file.
